It’s my senior year of high school. I have a big English paper due in two days. Some of my classmates started weeks ago on their papers and are still currently working to make it perfect. Other classmates still have no idea that we even had a paper and will turn it in two weeks late for 50% credit. Then, there’s the classmates like myself, who will go out tonight, go out tomorrow night, and then spend two hours throwing it together the night before it’s due date and still get at least a B+. I’m not going to lie; this is how I got through high school. In public high schools especially, education has become less of actually learning and more of merely throwing words on paper to get the grade.
Even through middle school, I was a procrastinator. I waited until the last minute to scribble down some answers on my homework, but I still got really good grades. What changed my view on education was attending Signature School my freshman and sophomore years. Signature School was not a school that would take a paper that clearly had no effort in it, or that would take homework that you obviously did the morning before class. Sig was all about education. It was a charter school, meaning you had to be accepted, but it would not cost you to go. They let you know before you join that they are a fast paced school, and that it would require a lot of work on the student’s part. They expected you to put effort into your schoolwork in order to earn your grade. I started doing my homework every night, and while it was hard and I didn’t necessarily enjoy it, I knew that I was earning my good grades, and that felt good. Teachers were hard on us. They weren’t afraid to correct or critique us. It almost made us afraid to turn in something that we knew we didn’t put much effort in.
Signature School was all about subjecting us to different cultures and religions. They have an amazing art program, and our teacher would let us experiment with different styles. Going to school with kids of different ethnicity helped us to learn about their lifestyles; it was really interesting. Every year, the school would take us to a music festival called Lotus Festival in Bloomington. The festival holds many different tents, all filled with different cultures and their music, fashion, and food. They always found a way for us to have fun and learn at the same time. We were required to do 25 hours of community service a year. Again, while it sucked at the time, we all knew they were doing it to teach us the importance of helping the communities around us. I felt very well rounded and educated at Sig.
My sophomore year, I was stupid and decided to move schools to be with my boyfriend at the time. I figured I would get just as good of an education at a public school that I would if I were to stay at Signature School. I was very wrong. You would occasionally find students that cared about their education and worked hard, but for the most part, I was surrounded by kids that were just trying to graduate so they could be done. Teachers didn’t like giving out bad grades; it made them look like bad teachers. “Completion grades” became the norm. If you did your homework, you got a good grade. I became very lazy with my schoolwork. If I could do my homework when it was assigned and get the same grade that I would if I were to do it ten minutes before class, why not put it off? I spent less time doing my homework and more time going out with friends and having fun.
I definitely agree with Britt’s theory that we are actually about to finish our first semester of high school. Even if you were a good student in high school, did your homework on time, and put effort into what you did, I just don’t think that the teachers expected enough. Teachers were always satisfied with what was “good enough”. Education in public school, in my opinion, has down graded. I understand there are going to be kids in school that just flat out don’t care, and that the teachers can’t do much about that. But we aren’t pushed. I feel like, at my public high school, I was never pushed to do well and learn as much as I could. Rather, I feel like I was pushed to just do what I could to get the pretty A+ to put on my transcript. In high school, we are at the age where we need to be pushed. You can say that it is our responsibility to learn more if that’s what we want, but I don’t feel like that’s the case. I feel like if it’s the teacher’s job to educate us, they need to make sure we are educated and not just “getting by” in school.
I feel like because I have attended a charter school as well as a public school, I understand how different education is now. While, sure, I learned some stuff at school, it was nothing compared to what I could have learned. If people are disappointed in what our society has become, they need to take a look at what we are learning in school and how we are learning it. If we are taught to discipline and push ourselves in school, then that is how we will act outside of school as well. It’s not just the stuff we are taught in school that is important, but also the values and ways that we go about learning.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Friday, November 19, 2010
"Insert High School Title Here"
High school is all about classifications, right? I mean, if you yourself don’t have a title by sophomore year, you just won’t survive high school, simple as that. It’s almost entertaining to just sit in a high school lunchroom and look around at the different tables, each one with their different “title”. Whether you were a “Band Freak”, a “Football Douchebag” or a “Theatre Loudmouth”, almost everyone belonged to a certain group in their good ole high school years.
Let’s start with my favorite group, the “Football Douchebags”. I went to a high school that was 100% focused on football. Our team went to State twice…and won, twice. The teachers adored the football players. I would go up to my teachers to ask for help on homework, and I would have to wait minutes while the teacher had a long conversation with a football player about the game they played that Friday night. Whenever she finally realized that I was standing there needing help, she would aimlessly direct me to a page number and return to her idolizing conversation with the hunky football guy. Of course, these “Football Douchebags” were something else. They always had this attitude about them that they were “the shit”. They got out of homework assignments, got all of the attention of both teachers, students, and even the principal, and they always dated the hot girls, of course. That’s all great and all, but whenever you’re as dumb as a box of rocks, AND you are conceited and egocentric, I am not going to like you. To top it all off, our football program got all of our money, while things like our journalism classes, art classes, and speech programs got little to nothing. Needless to say, I now hate football.
What goes along great with our “Football Douchbags”? Why, our “Slutty ‘I’m so dumb’ Cheerleaders”! Like the football players, our teachers and faculty adored our cheerleaders. They walked with confidence in our hallways because they knew all the girls wanted to be them. As soon as someone joined the cheerleading team, they dyed their hair blonde. They wore their short little skirts, flirted loudly with cute boys next to my desk so as to disrupt my education, and then turned around and daily asked to copy my homework. We would all hear stories about their weekend parties where they got so drunk and had sex with a random guy on top of their mother’s Corvettes. Cheerleaders at my school were so classy. Maybe I am just bitter because I didn’t make the cheer team in the 6th grade because I didn’t have “the look” for it, but I sure did hate those cheerleaders. I might have hated them almost as much as I hated the football players, but not quite.
Next we had our “Theatre Loudmouths”. This group belonged to the kids that used to have nothing to call themselves. These were the kids that never had a group before and found their place in theatre. After they acted in their first production, the “Theatre Loudmouth” came alive. Suddenly, they went from being the shy kids to being the kids always told to be quiet in the lunchroom. They gossiped constantly, and usually only dated and hung out with people that starred in the same plays. They were overly dramatic, and you could always tell who was a theatre kid and who wasn’t just by listening to them talk. While they were most certainly annoying, I was glad that my fellow classmates found a place where they belonged.
“Gangstaaas” were another big group in our high school. You would think that this group would consist of only African Americans, but at our school, it wasn’t. The “Gangstaaas” consisted of both black and white kids that wore baggy clothes, big colorful shoes, and talked like they didn’t know how to form sentences properly. They were always so loud, and you could spot them coming. This group revolved around laughter. They loved making jokes about other people’s “mommas” and picking on each other. Whenever they laughed, they cupped their hands over their mouths and yelled “OOOOHHHHH!” before going into a fit of laughter and stomping. This was always the group that was most fun to watch. They were some funny kids.
The “Mary Janes” accounted for a pretty good portion of our class. These were the kids that...well, loved pot. I had a couple friends in this group, and they were interesting. They usually talked about pot a lot. How much they smoked last night, when they are going to smoke again, and what they did “that one time” they were so blown. In art class, instead of painting pictures of landscapes, they were drawing mushrooms. Instead of making cute friendship bracelets, they were making hemp. While I never agreed with their lifestyle, I always thought that the “Mary Janes” were the easiest to get along with. They were always so calm and happy and optimistic. Sadly, most of the “Mary Janes” of my grade have yet to go on and be more. They are still stuck at their parents, smoking pot in the basement with their friends.
“Scenie Weenies” is what my group of friends were called. During high school, we all went to local music venues to hear the local bands play. We all wore skinny jeans before they became fashionable. We wore bright colors, Chucks, and we often put random color streaks in our hair. We gauged our ears and pierced our noses. We were made fun of relentlessly until we all decided to just give it up and retire our “scene” lifestyles.
Lastly, there were the “Band Geeks”. Every high school had these. They all had one instrument they had played since grade school that they carried around with them everywhere. They were all very proud of their band accomplishments. They competed in music competitions and smiled proudly when they won their ribbons. “Band Geeks” were either whores or goody-goody. These were usually your good students as well.
Let’s start with my favorite group, the “Football Douchebags”. I went to a high school that was 100% focused on football. Our team went to State twice…and won, twice. The teachers adored the football players. I would go up to my teachers to ask for help on homework, and I would have to wait minutes while the teacher had a long conversation with a football player about the game they played that Friday night. Whenever she finally realized that I was standing there needing help, she would aimlessly direct me to a page number and return to her idolizing conversation with the hunky football guy. Of course, these “Football Douchebags” were something else. They always had this attitude about them that they were “the shit”. They got out of homework assignments, got all of the attention of both teachers, students, and even the principal, and they always dated the hot girls, of course. That’s all great and all, but whenever you’re as dumb as a box of rocks, AND you are conceited and egocentric, I am not going to like you. To top it all off, our football program got all of our money, while things like our journalism classes, art classes, and speech programs got little to nothing. Needless to say, I now hate football.
What goes along great with our “Football Douchbags”? Why, our “Slutty ‘I’m so dumb’ Cheerleaders”! Like the football players, our teachers and faculty adored our cheerleaders. They walked with confidence in our hallways because they knew all the girls wanted to be them. As soon as someone joined the cheerleading team, they dyed their hair blonde. They wore their short little skirts, flirted loudly with cute boys next to my desk so as to disrupt my education, and then turned around and daily asked to copy my homework. We would all hear stories about their weekend parties where they got so drunk and had sex with a random guy on top of their mother’s Corvettes. Cheerleaders at my school were so classy. Maybe I am just bitter because I didn’t make the cheer team in the 6th grade because I didn’t have “the look” for it, but I sure did hate those cheerleaders. I might have hated them almost as much as I hated the football players, but not quite.
Next we had our “Theatre Loudmouths”. This group belonged to the kids that used to have nothing to call themselves. These were the kids that never had a group before and found their place in theatre. After they acted in their first production, the “Theatre Loudmouth” came alive. Suddenly, they went from being the shy kids to being the kids always told to be quiet in the lunchroom. They gossiped constantly, and usually only dated and hung out with people that starred in the same plays. They were overly dramatic, and you could always tell who was a theatre kid and who wasn’t just by listening to them talk. While they were most certainly annoying, I was glad that my fellow classmates found a place where they belonged.
“Gangstaaas” were another big group in our high school. You would think that this group would consist of only African Americans, but at our school, it wasn’t. The “Gangstaaas” consisted of both black and white kids that wore baggy clothes, big colorful shoes, and talked like they didn’t know how to form sentences properly. They were always so loud, and you could spot them coming. This group revolved around laughter. They loved making jokes about other people’s “mommas” and picking on each other. Whenever they laughed, they cupped their hands over their mouths and yelled “OOOOHHHHH!” before going into a fit of laughter and stomping. This was always the group that was most fun to watch. They were some funny kids.
The “Mary Janes” accounted for a pretty good portion of our class. These were the kids that...well, loved pot. I had a couple friends in this group, and they were interesting. They usually talked about pot a lot. How much they smoked last night, when they are going to smoke again, and what they did “that one time” they were so blown. In art class, instead of painting pictures of landscapes, they were drawing mushrooms. Instead of making cute friendship bracelets, they were making hemp. While I never agreed with their lifestyle, I always thought that the “Mary Janes” were the easiest to get along with. They were always so calm and happy and optimistic. Sadly, most of the “Mary Janes” of my grade have yet to go on and be more. They are still stuck at their parents, smoking pot in the basement with their friends.
“Scenie Weenies” is what my group of friends were called. During high school, we all went to local music venues to hear the local bands play. We all wore skinny jeans before they became fashionable. We wore bright colors, Chucks, and we often put random color streaks in our hair. We gauged our ears and pierced our noses. We were made fun of relentlessly until we all decided to just give it up and retire our “scene” lifestyles.
Lastly, there were the “Band Geeks”. Every high school had these. They all had one instrument they had played since grade school that they carried around with them everywhere. They were all very proud of their band accomplishments. They competed in music competitions and smiled proudly when they won their ribbons. “Band Geeks” were either whores or goody-goody. These were usually your good students as well.
Friday, November 12, 2010
ANNOYANCES
There are many things that just tick me off. Things that people do and say at times just have a way of sending me over the edge. It is sometimes hard to understand why people do what they do and then think that it is okay. A lot of people are good at standing up for themselves whenever people do something to make them angry. They can cuss, scream, and argue until things are worked out and justice is served. Me, on the other hand, I am a pushover. Even when I’m so angry that I think I might explode, I let people get away with what they do because I hate confronting them and making them even more upset. When I do end up confronting them, I am always super nice and relaxed about it, which almost always makes it worse because the problem hardly ever ceases. Yep, life sure is full of those little annoyances that have the capability to drive you crazy. The best place to realize these annoyances? College!
It drives me insane whenever people can’t take care of themselves, especially here at college. If you don’t know how to live with people, don’t live with them. Don’t leave your stuff everywhere if you know your roommate hates it. Don’t listen to people’s conversations that they are having in the other room and then comment on them. It makes people feel rather uncomfortable when they come out of their room after a phone conversation and the first thing they hear from you is “Oh, you’re going with Amy to Dairy Queen? I’m coming”.
Which brings me to my next point in this ongoing list: don’t invite yourself everywhere; when you invite yourself everywhere, it makes people not want to invite you anywhere. Don’t tell your roommates all the details of your…womanhood. Yes, we are all girls, but that business is more of a private matter. Don’t laugh obnoxiously at Saturday Night Live at 2 a.m. whenever everyone is trying to sleep. I know you cannot help how you laugh, but dear God, please, keep it down. Don’t ask for everyone else’s food if you are not willing to share your own. I’m not a greedy person, but I’m not just going to feed you for the rest of my life either.
Don’t bring over creepy random guys with greasy hair that you just met that night at the Loft to spend the night on the couch. It alarms us a little bit when we come home to guys we don’t know snoozing on our couch while you are shut away in your room on the computer. It also might be a good idea to not bring over friends that steal. Especially when you learned how they stole firsthand, by you missing 60 dollars. Why should I have to hide my money in my own room? One last thing…please, please, PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy, do no leave your puke sitting in a bucket on your bed for hours. When I walk in at midnight and find this bucket from 3 p.m. sitting there with all the contents still intact, it makes me want to kill someone.
You know, after dealing with all of that, you would think that we would hate that roommate. We don’t, or at least, we didn’t. I was still dedicated to being nice to her. She, on the other hand, decided to play a game of teeter-totter with us and go from being nice to being really mean. That’s another thing that really gets under my skin is when people take advantage of nice people. Whenever they know that they can get away with anything because that particular person is just so nice that you know they will get over everything with time. I have always been the person taken advantage of. I was always the person people would ditch when they had better plans, and I was always the friend to not get angry whenever this happened. People are constantly taking their anger out on me because they know that I will deal with it. Particularly, with one of my old roommates, I have this problem. All four of us dealt with a lot, and to be honest, she did not deserve people to be nice to her.
It drives me insane whenever people can’t take care of themselves, especially here at college. If you don’t know how to live with people, don’t live with them. Don’t leave your stuff everywhere if you know your roommate hates it. Don’t listen to people’s conversations that they are having in the other room and then comment on them. It makes people feel rather uncomfortable when they come out of their room after a phone conversation and the first thing they hear from you is “Oh, you’re going with Amy to Dairy Queen? I’m coming”.
Which brings me to my next point in this ongoing list: don’t invite yourself everywhere; when you invite yourself everywhere, it makes people not want to invite you anywhere. Don’t tell your roommates all the details of your…womanhood. Yes, we are all girls, but that business is more of a private matter. Don’t laugh obnoxiously at Saturday Night Live at 2 a.m. whenever everyone is trying to sleep. I know you cannot help how you laugh, but dear God, please, keep it down. Don’t ask for everyone else’s food if you are not willing to share your own. I’m not a greedy person, but I’m not just going to feed you for the rest of my life either.
Don’t bring over creepy random guys with greasy hair that you just met that night at the Loft to spend the night on the couch. It alarms us a little bit when we come home to guys we don’t know snoozing on our couch while you are shut away in your room on the computer. It also might be a good idea to not bring over friends that steal. Especially when you learned how they stole firsthand, by you missing 60 dollars. Why should I have to hide my money in my own room? One last thing…please, please, PLEASE, for the love of all that is holy, do no leave your puke sitting in a bucket on your bed for hours. When I walk in at midnight and find this bucket from 3 p.m. sitting there with all the contents still intact, it makes me want to kill someone.
You know, after dealing with all of that, you would think that we would hate that roommate. We don’t, or at least, we didn’t. I was still dedicated to being nice to her. She, on the other hand, decided to play a game of teeter-totter with us and go from being nice to being really mean. That’s another thing that really gets under my skin is when people take advantage of nice people. Whenever they know that they can get away with anything because that particular person is just so nice that you know they will get over everything with time. I have always been the person taken advantage of. I was always the person people would ditch when they had better plans, and I was always the friend to not get angry whenever this happened. People are constantly taking their anger out on me because they know that I will deal with it. Particularly, with one of my old roommates, I have this problem. All four of us dealt with a lot, and to be honest, she did not deserve people to be nice to her.
Monday, November 8, 2010
I Want a Daughter
A majority of women grow up dreaming of having children at some point. They think of what their children will look like, how they will spoil them, and all of the fun times they will have with their future children. When it comes time for these women to actually have kids, there are these expectations in the back of their minds on what their experience will be like. I think that when my mother had me, her first daughter, she definitely expected me to be the daughter she had always imagined. This holds true even today. Ever since June 28th, 1991, I will always be a daughter. Oh, what a joy it is.
I want a daughter. I want a little princess that will always be sweet to me. I want a cute little girl with dark hair that I can put in cute little ponytails and bows. I want to dress her up in pink dresses and hear her say in her baby voice “I wuv you, Mommy.” I want to take her to the park and get lots of compliments on how cute my daughter is. I want people to be jealous that their kids aren’t as cute as mine. I want my daughter to be polite and nice to strangers, but also be smart enough to not follow them to her car. I want people to “ooh” and “aah” at every little thing she does. I want her to run into my room every morning just to snuggle with me. I want her to have tea parties with me and want to play house. I want her to love her daddy, but favor me. I want to hate whenever she has to grow up a little more and start school.
When my daughter starts kindergarten, I want to receive notes home from her teachers about how sweet my little girl is in class. I want to her to be shy with her classmates, but very nice to them. I want her to get citizen of the month frequently. I want to see all pluses on her report card. I want her to come to me after school and ask for help on her homework. I want her to grow and learn and dream, but I want her to be my little girl forever. I want to be in charge of all of her class parties. I want all of the kids to know that I am her cool mom that comes in to help the school whenever I can. I want her to have lots of friends over for sleepovers so I can bake for them and be like their second mom. I want my daughter to do what she wants. If she wants to play sports, I want her to play sports. If she wants to be in dance class, I will sign her up. If she wants to just be a nerd and read all of the time, I will buy her books. But whatever she decides to do growing up, I want her to succeed.
It’s going to be tough having a daughter in middle school, but I know she can do it. She is going to go through puberty, get her first period, buy her first bra, and experience her first boy pains. My daughter is going to go through a lot during middle school, but she sure as hell is going to get through it the right way. Instead of experimenting with drugs, alcohol, and boys in middle school like a lot of girls seem to do, she is going to be Momma’s good girl. She will always be the goody-goody of her class, because her mother would expect nothing less. When she does mess up, she is going to tell me, because her conscious couldn’t stand not telling her mom things. Middle school is going to be hard for my daughter, but she will succeed, I’m sure.
High school is going to be the roughest, but we can do it. My daughter is going to make good grades without me even hounding her about homework. In fact, I won’t even have to ask her how classes are going, because I know she can handle it. Somehow, without me pushing her, I will still be receiving report cards in the mail full of As and Bs. I will be so proud that my daughter has taken the responsibility upon herself to do well in school and succeed. Now, of course, my daughter will be dealing with normal high school temptations. I expect that she won’t participate in any of them, but I know that is unrealistic. She may try drinking, she may try smoking, she may even have sex with boys, but as long as she comes to her senses at some point and realizes what is worth it in life and what isn’t, I will be proud of her. I will be angry the first time I find out she drank, but she will tell me she realizes now how stupid it was and that she won’t do it again. I will hug her and love her for being honest. When she tells me she needs birth control, I may or may not be disappointed, but we will have a talk and she will make that decision on her own. My daughter is going to have her share of hard times in high school, but she will turn out like the accomplished, sweet, and amazing young lady I always expected she will be.
Having a daughter is going to be rough. There are going to be so many ups and downs. Growing up, dating, high school…it’s going to be a long road. But hopefully, with some careful guidance and knowing that she has a support system behind her, she will turn out like the daughter I always wanted. I want a daughter, so bad.
I want a daughter. I want a little princess that will always be sweet to me. I want a cute little girl with dark hair that I can put in cute little ponytails and bows. I want to dress her up in pink dresses and hear her say in her baby voice “I wuv you, Mommy.” I want to take her to the park and get lots of compliments on how cute my daughter is. I want people to be jealous that their kids aren’t as cute as mine. I want my daughter to be polite and nice to strangers, but also be smart enough to not follow them to her car. I want people to “ooh” and “aah” at every little thing she does. I want her to run into my room every morning just to snuggle with me. I want her to have tea parties with me and want to play house. I want her to love her daddy, but favor me. I want to hate whenever she has to grow up a little more and start school.
When my daughter starts kindergarten, I want to receive notes home from her teachers about how sweet my little girl is in class. I want to her to be shy with her classmates, but very nice to them. I want her to get citizen of the month frequently. I want to see all pluses on her report card. I want her to come to me after school and ask for help on her homework. I want her to grow and learn and dream, but I want her to be my little girl forever. I want to be in charge of all of her class parties. I want all of the kids to know that I am her cool mom that comes in to help the school whenever I can. I want her to have lots of friends over for sleepovers so I can bake for them and be like their second mom. I want my daughter to do what she wants. If she wants to play sports, I want her to play sports. If she wants to be in dance class, I will sign her up. If she wants to just be a nerd and read all of the time, I will buy her books. But whatever she decides to do growing up, I want her to succeed.
It’s going to be tough having a daughter in middle school, but I know she can do it. She is going to go through puberty, get her first period, buy her first bra, and experience her first boy pains. My daughter is going to go through a lot during middle school, but she sure as hell is going to get through it the right way. Instead of experimenting with drugs, alcohol, and boys in middle school like a lot of girls seem to do, she is going to be Momma’s good girl. She will always be the goody-goody of her class, because her mother would expect nothing less. When she does mess up, she is going to tell me, because her conscious couldn’t stand not telling her mom things. Middle school is going to be hard for my daughter, but she will succeed, I’m sure.
High school is going to be the roughest, but we can do it. My daughter is going to make good grades without me even hounding her about homework. In fact, I won’t even have to ask her how classes are going, because I know she can handle it. Somehow, without me pushing her, I will still be receiving report cards in the mail full of As and Bs. I will be so proud that my daughter has taken the responsibility upon herself to do well in school and succeed. Now, of course, my daughter will be dealing with normal high school temptations. I expect that she won’t participate in any of them, but I know that is unrealistic. She may try drinking, she may try smoking, she may even have sex with boys, but as long as she comes to her senses at some point and realizes what is worth it in life and what isn’t, I will be proud of her. I will be angry the first time I find out she drank, but she will tell me she realizes now how stupid it was and that she won’t do it again. I will hug her and love her for being honest. When she tells me she needs birth control, I may or may not be disappointed, but we will have a talk and she will make that decision on her own. My daughter is going to have her share of hard times in high school, but she will turn out like the accomplished, sweet, and amazing young lady I always expected she will be.
Having a daughter is going to be rough. There are going to be so many ups and downs. Growing up, dating, high school…it’s going to be a long road. But hopefully, with some careful guidance and knowing that she has a support system behind her, she will turn out like the daughter I always wanted. I want a daughter, so bad.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Stereotyping
Stereotypes are a part of everyday life, whether we realize it or not. People subconsciously make conceptions about others based on race, gender, or even style. It’s just the way our minds have become programmed over the years. Being a teenage girl, I’m sure there have been times that I have been stereotyped in situation where I didn’t even realize it. There are several examples, however, of times when people close to me have been stereotyped for various reasons.
There are a lot of stereotypes about older people. People think they can’t hear, they aren’t capable of doing things for themselves, and basically, that they are incompetent. My Nana is 72 years old, and there have been many times when I was with her that people would treat her differently, especially at stores. I found that when my grandma would ask the clerks questions about certain items, they would suddenly start talking at a very slow pace. They would repeat things several times, and put things in very childish terms. My Nana would just wink at me while they were talking, because she knew what they were doing. I think that a lot of times, people are just used to seeing the older people that have a hard time hearing and comprehending things, so they automatically think they are all like that. I must say, I am probably guilty of doing the same. When I worked fast food, I had a lot of older people that couldn’t hear what I was saying, so I started talking to them like they were children. It’s just become normal to think that way about older people.
Another example of stereotyping would be my friend from middle school, Justus. He was mixed, and adopted, and had a great family. At school, people always just figured he was like the rest of the black guys. They figured he smoked, drank, and walked the streets. He also lived in Howell Park, which is considered a “rough” neighborhood. He was very different from the other guys at school though. He rapped, but not the type of rap everyone thought. Justus is a proud Christian, and he was in a Christian rap group with his brothers. I never knew any of this until later. I always kind of put him in the “black guy” stereotype like everyone else. I was at a Christian concert my freshman year, and I walked outside to see Justus handing out cds. I thought it was odd that he was outside of a Christian concert handing out rap cds, but I took one anyways. When I put it in my cd player, the lyrics were extremely positive and uplifting. I was surprised, and I also felt pretty bad that I always stereotyped Justus to be a bad kid when he really wasn’t.
My boyfriend has also been stereotyped many times because of his appearance. There is a group of guys around town that have gauges, tattoos, and they play in a band. Generally, they are considered to be bad. People think that they all drink, smoke pot, and party all of the time. While it is true that a lot of them do, they aren’t all like that. My boyfriend is “above the influence”. He has never drank alcohol or smoked a cigarette in his life, and he prides himself on that. People are always surprised to hear that Jake doesn’t participate in that type of lifestyle. They see his tattoos and gauges and automatically stereotype him as a partying lowlife when, really, he is the exact opposite.
Another stereotype I have witnessed is about a girl I went to high school with. She had been dating the same guy for about six years, and he was in the army. As soon as she graduated, they got married and she moved in with him. Several months later, she announced that she was pregnant. Even though her baby was conceived a couple months after she married, she still dealt with people thinking that she conceived her baby out of wedlock. She was gossiped about a lot among people in our grade. Even when girls get pregnant outside of marriage, they are given the stereotype of being a whore, even if that is not necessarily the case. I know several girls that had babies in high school with the same person they lost their virginities to, and a lot of them are still with those people today.
Whether it be concerning race, gender, age, or circumstances, stereotyping is something most people do everyday. Subconsciously, you make judgments about people before you really know them. Is it right? Of course not, but it’s life. Stereotyping is part of everyday life.
There are a lot of stereotypes about older people. People think they can’t hear, they aren’t capable of doing things for themselves, and basically, that they are incompetent. My Nana is 72 years old, and there have been many times when I was with her that people would treat her differently, especially at stores. I found that when my grandma would ask the clerks questions about certain items, they would suddenly start talking at a very slow pace. They would repeat things several times, and put things in very childish terms. My Nana would just wink at me while they were talking, because she knew what they were doing. I think that a lot of times, people are just used to seeing the older people that have a hard time hearing and comprehending things, so they automatically think they are all like that. I must say, I am probably guilty of doing the same. When I worked fast food, I had a lot of older people that couldn’t hear what I was saying, so I started talking to them like they were children. It’s just become normal to think that way about older people.
Another example of stereotyping would be my friend from middle school, Justus. He was mixed, and adopted, and had a great family. At school, people always just figured he was like the rest of the black guys. They figured he smoked, drank, and walked the streets. He also lived in Howell Park, which is considered a “rough” neighborhood. He was very different from the other guys at school though. He rapped, but not the type of rap everyone thought. Justus is a proud Christian, and he was in a Christian rap group with his brothers. I never knew any of this until later. I always kind of put him in the “black guy” stereotype like everyone else. I was at a Christian concert my freshman year, and I walked outside to see Justus handing out cds. I thought it was odd that he was outside of a Christian concert handing out rap cds, but I took one anyways. When I put it in my cd player, the lyrics were extremely positive and uplifting. I was surprised, and I also felt pretty bad that I always stereotyped Justus to be a bad kid when he really wasn’t.
My boyfriend has also been stereotyped many times because of his appearance. There is a group of guys around town that have gauges, tattoos, and they play in a band. Generally, they are considered to be bad. People think that they all drink, smoke pot, and party all of the time. While it is true that a lot of them do, they aren’t all like that. My boyfriend is “above the influence”. He has never drank alcohol or smoked a cigarette in his life, and he prides himself on that. People are always surprised to hear that Jake doesn’t participate in that type of lifestyle. They see his tattoos and gauges and automatically stereotype him as a partying lowlife when, really, he is the exact opposite.
Another stereotype I have witnessed is about a girl I went to high school with. She had been dating the same guy for about six years, and he was in the army. As soon as she graduated, they got married and she moved in with him. Several months later, she announced that she was pregnant. Even though her baby was conceived a couple months after she married, she still dealt with people thinking that she conceived her baby out of wedlock. She was gossiped about a lot among people in our grade. Even when girls get pregnant outside of marriage, they are given the stereotype of being a whore, even if that is not necessarily the case. I know several girls that had babies in high school with the same person they lost their virginities to, and a lot of them are still with those people today.
Whether it be concerning race, gender, age, or circumstances, stereotyping is something most people do everyday. Subconsciously, you make judgments about people before you really know them. Is it right? Of course not, but it’s life. Stereotyping is part of everyday life.
Monday, October 25, 2010
College Adjustments
Coming into college, it’s nearly impossible to know what to expect. You are entering a whole new life it seems like. You no longer have your parents and high school teachers around to baby you; you are responsible for yourself. You have to realize that your mind is going to change a million times, not just on your major or your class choices, but it will also change your outlook on life. College requires a lot of growth and maturing. A lot of people find themselves changing the instant they start college. I know that whenever I left high school to move on to college, I certainly had a very different outlook on everything than I do now.
All throughout high school, I know I had it easy. I knew that I could get most of my assignments finished in class and I could do the rest in homeroom. I was even able to write my English papers in my journalism class, so I was left with virtually no homework when my school day ended. It was stressful trying to finish all of my work in class, but I preferred it that way so that I could relax when I returned home. I was excited for college, but I also dreaded it at the same time. I knew that my days of taking it easy would be over once I hit college, and even though I knew I was smart and capable of doing my homework, I was stressing that I wouldn’t be able to handle the adjustment very well.
I was right in some ways and wrong in others when I thought that college would be a huge, stressful adjustment. I was expecting to be doing homework all night every night, and never know what was going on in any of my classes. I guess I felt like I was going to be lost and confused. While it took awhile to get used to my classes, I was happy to find that they weren’t as monstrous as I thought they would be. I am still not totally adjusted to doing my homework at home instead of in class, but it is a work in progress. My classes have either met or exceeded all of my expectation and/or worries, but I am getting used to them.
History has always been my weak point. I’m not very good at history. Everyone who had already taken the U.S. World History course told me how much they dreaded it. I, too, dread it every day. It requires around 30-40 pages of reading each class, and the tests are pretty difficult. For someone who hates history and has a hard time comprehending it, this class is definitely a struggle for me. Fortunately, I did not go into this class thinking it would easy. It has met my expectations in that I expected this class to be extremely difficult and kill me.
Another class that has exceeded my expectations is my English class. I expected this class to be a lot of book reading and quizzes. I was thrilled to find out that this class was based more on writing than book work. I love to write, so this class has been good for me to practice doing so in order to get better. While sometimes it is a pain to have to write so much all of the time, I know that it is just good way to strengthen our writing skills.
Besides my attitudes and expectations in individual classes, college has also changed my outlook on life in general. Of course, being away from your family can sometimes make you miss them. I live several minutes away from mine and I still miss not seeing them every day. I think college has showed me how important my family actually was to me. College has also given me insight to the “party life”. I was never around partiers much in high school, and now I’m around them daily. The way they act and the things they say when they are drunk has just strengthened my reasoning on why I think partying is not a good idea for myself personally. College has shown me that life is real. We’ve had cases of rape on campus, car break-ins (including my own), burglaries, and drug busts. It’s just not something you see a lot of when you’re living a cozy life at home with your parents. Lastly, college has shown me how to take care and fend for myself. Everything here is my own responsibility. I have to make sure I’m up on time, that all of my homework is done, it’s up to me to talk to my advisor or get my major changed, it’s up to me to make my own doctor’s appointments, and that’s been a big adjustment from when I lived at home. At home, my mom took care of a lot of stuff like that. In my dorm, I have to clean, I have to do dishes, and I have to make my own meals. While I don’t necessarily like doing all of these things, it does give me a sense of independence and comfort knowing that I am capable of living by myself.
All throughout high school, I know I had it easy. I knew that I could get most of my assignments finished in class and I could do the rest in homeroom. I was even able to write my English papers in my journalism class, so I was left with virtually no homework when my school day ended. It was stressful trying to finish all of my work in class, but I preferred it that way so that I could relax when I returned home. I was excited for college, but I also dreaded it at the same time. I knew that my days of taking it easy would be over once I hit college, and even though I knew I was smart and capable of doing my homework, I was stressing that I wouldn’t be able to handle the adjustment very well.
I was right in some ways and wrong in others when I thought that college would be a huge, stressful adjustment. I was expecting to be doing homework all night every night, and never know what was going on in any of my classes. I guess I felt like I was going to be lost and confused. While it took awhile to get used to my classes, I was happy to find that they weren’t as monstrous as I thought they would be. I am still not totally adjusted to doing my homework at home instead of in class, but it is a work in progress. My classes have either met or exceeded all of my expectation and/or worries, but I am getting used to them.
History has always been my weak point. I’m not very good at history. Everyone who had already taken the U.S. World History course told me how much they dreaded it. I, too, dread it every day. It requires around 30-40 pages of reading each class, and the tests are pretty difficult. For someone who hates history and has a hard time comprehending it, this class is definitely a struggle for me. Fortunately, I did not go into this class thinking it would easy. It has met my expectations in that I expected this class to be extremely difficult and kill me.
Another class that has exceeded my expectations is my English class. I expected this class to be a lot of book reading and quizzes. I was thrilled to find out that this class was based more on writing than book work. I love to write, so this class has been good for me to practice doing so in order to get better. While sometimes it is a pain to have to write so much all of the time, I know that it is just good way to strengthen our writing skills.
Besides my attitudes and expectations in individual classes, college has also changed my outlook on life in general. Of course, being away from your family can sometimes make you miss them. I live several minutes away from mine and I still miss not seeing them every day. I think college has showed me how important my family actually was to me. College has also given me insight to the “party life”. I was never around partiers much in high school, and now I’m around them daily. The way they act and the things they say when they are drunk has just strengthened my reasoning on why I think partying is not a good idea for myself personally. College has shown me that life is real. We’ve had cases of rape on campus, car break-ins (including my own), burglaries, and drug busts. It’s just not something you see a lot of when you’re living a cozy life at home with your parents. Lastly, college has shown me how to take care and fend for myself. Everything here is my own responsibility. I have to make sure I’m up on time, that all of my homework is done, it’s up to me to talk to my advisor or get my major changed, it’s up to me to make my own doctor’s appointments, and that’s been a big adjustment from when I lived at home. At home, my mom took care of a lot of stuff like that. In my dorm, I have to clean, I have to do dishes, and I have to make my own meals. While I don’t necessarily like doing all of these things, it does give me a sense of independence and comfort knowing that I am capable of living by myself.
Monday, October 18, 2010
College?!
Fresh out of high school, it’s easy to think that college is going to be a breeze. It’s easy to think you can sleep in until noon every day, throw together a paper, and be done. In high school, it was easy to look at your older peers in college and think that they have the easy road. They didn’t have to deal with the same kids every day, they didn’t have to wake up at the crack of dawn, and they only had the same class once a week. Sure, it seems simple enough to be a college student. While it is certainly easier than living the high school life, college is not an easy thing; it requires a lot of hard work. To succeed in college, you must end the habit of procrastination, you must be dedicated, and you must learn to go with the flow.
By high school, we had all learned too well how to procrastinate. It was easy to get away with when your teachers only wanted a finished assignment from you. I know of many times that I Aced a paper I just put together the night before simply because not many people tried hard enough to even throw a paper together. We get in the habit of putting things off until the last minute because we can get away with it. In high school, it’s easy to pass off really good grades without hardly lifting a finger. In college, however, procrastination will often leave you stressed and out of luck. Tests are harder, assignments are harder, and the teachers are harder on you. So when you decided to put off your paper until the night before it’s due, chances are your professor will be able to tell and give you the grade you deserve: an F or a D. They don’t tolerate many excuses, and while they are not totally mean all of the time, you will usually get somewhat of an attitude when you start making excuses for why you didn’t turn in your homework. It’s insanely tempting to procrastinate in college. There’s always a party down the hall, there’s always friends to hang out with, and you don’t have your parents there breathing down your back. With all of the commotion and fun going on, school work is probably one of the last things on your mind. Procrastination is a hard habit to break, but if you are able to, it’s the first step in your college success.
Dedication is another key factor in being successful in your college career. If you are not dedicated, you lose sight of why you are at college to begin with: to learn and earn your degree. Professors don’t care if you don’t have your homework in; you have to care. They aren’t going to baby you and make sure your assignments are in so you can show your good grades to mommy and daddy. If you fail a course, you pay to retake it, simple as that. You have to keep your main goal in mind, and that is to graduate with good grades. It is certainly hard whenever there are so many distractions around you, but if you keep that dedication it takes to keep up with homework and have good study habits, it will be worth the trouble. When you are sitting in your dorm at night with your books out studying, you have to remind yourself that you are doing all of this hard work in order to be successful later in life. You will never regret hard work in college.
Lastly, to succeed in college, you must learn to go with the flow. While structure is nice and everything, sometimes college just doesn’t work like that. Occasionally you might have to change your schedule for a class, or change your schedule in order to make more time for studying. You must be able to handle that. Also, however, you must learn to go with the flow because you will enjoy college more that way. Taking on this kind of attitude will help you maximize your college experience by allowing you more opportunities to experience things and make friends. Making friends is very essential to college. Your friends become your support group because they are all dealing with college life just like you.
While it is hard to transition from high school to college, if you’re prepared, making the switch will be a little easier on you. Knocking off the habit of procrastination early on will help you be more successful. Like anything else, college also requires dedication. If you are just dreading college and you couldn’t care less about it, college probably isn’t for you. You have to want to be here. Lastly, college is a great experience; learn how to go with the flow and have fun. You can work hard while staying focused on school. It may not be easy to be successful in college, but it sure is possible.
By high school, we had all learned too well how to procrastinate. It was easy to get away with when your teachers only wanted a finished assignment from you. I know of many times that I Aced a paper I just put together the night before simply because not many people tried hard enough to even throw a paper together. We get in the habit of putting things off until the last minute because we can get away with it. In high school, it’s easy to pass off really good grades without hardly lifting a finger. In college, however, procrastination will often leave you stressed and out of luck. Tests are harder, assignments are harder, and the teachers are harder on you. So when you decided to put off your paper until the night before it’s due, chances are your professor will be able to tell and give you the grade you deserve: an F or a D. They don’t tolerate many excuses, and while they are not totally mean all of the time, you will usually get somewhat of an attitude when you start making excuses for why you didn’t turn in your homework. It’s insanely tempting to procrastinate in college. There’s always a party down the hall, there’s always friends to hang out with, and you don’t have your parents there breathing down your back. With all of the commotion and fun going on, school work is probably one of the last things on your mind. Procrastination is a hard habit to break, but if you are able to, it’s the first step in your college success.
Dedication is another key factor in being successful in your college career. If you are not dedicated, you lose sight of why you are at college to begin with: to learn and earn your degree. Professors don’t care if you don’t have your homework in; you have to care. They aren’t going to baby you and make sure your assignments are in so you can show your good grades to mommy and daddy. If you fail a course, you pay to retake it, simple as that. You have to keep your main goal in mind, and that is to graduate with good grades. It is certainly hard whenever there are so many distractions around you, but if you keep that dedication it takes to keep up with homework and have good study habits, it will be worth the trouble. When you are sitting in your dorm at night with your books out studying, you have to remind yourself that you are doing all of this hard work in order to be successful later in life. You will never regret hard work in college.
Lastly, to succeed in college, you must learn to go with the flow. While structure is nice and everything, sometimes college just doesn’t work like that. Occasionally you might have to change your schedule for a class, or change your schedule in order to make more time for studying. You must be able to handle that. Also, however, you must learn to go with the flow because you will enjoy college more that way. Taking on this kind of attitude will help you maximize your college experience by allowing you more opportunities to experience things and make friends. Making friends is very essential to college. Your friends become your support group because they are all dealing with college life just like you.
While it is hard to transition from high school to college, if you’re prepared, making the switch will be a little easier on you. Knocking off the habit of procrastination early on will help you be more successful. Like anything else, college also requires dedication. If you are just dreading college and you couldn’t care less about it, college probably isn’t for you. You have to want to be here. Lastly, college is a great experience; learn how to go with the flow and have fun. You can work hard while staying focused on school. It may not be easy to be successful in college, but it sure is possible.
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
The Joys of Working in Fast Food
Working fast food seems simple enough. You go in, you take some money, and you flip some hamburgers. Or so everyone seems to think. Working fast food, especially an “upscale” fast food place like G.D. Ritzys, can be tedious and downright exhausting. Ritzys prides itself on making all of their ingredients. They make their own ice cream, their own croutons for the salads they put together themselves; their own chili, coleslaw, and they even shred their own cheese. Many don’t realize that it is often times the employee’s responsibility to do these everyday tasks that people don’t think of. You can go on thinking working fast food is the easy way out, but just take a look inside our workdays and you will find it is not anywhere near an easy thing.
I arrive at work at 8 a.m., even on the weekends. We don’t open until 10:30 a.m., so there are two and a half hours of preparation before we even open. We all are assigned our own jobs. My job is to do salads. I go in, put on my hairnet, booties, and gloves, and get busy. The first thing I do is see what salads and toppings are left to use from the night before. I have to check all of the leftover salads to make sure they are all fresh; freshness is very important to the Ritzy image. I discard the ones that have any hint of brown in them. Next, I take the leftover lettuce from the night before and fill up the lettuce containers for the sandwich makers. I take all of the leftover lettuce to the salad, where I chop it up. We have huge sinks in the back that we fill up with chopped lettuce to make our salads; we usually go through around 70 salads a day. The chopper is heavy and a burden to use, but it’s what has to be done.
After I chop the lettuce, I start making salads. I get out the tomatoes, the hardboiled eggs, and the carrots. I have my own way of making my salads. I line up as many bowls as I can on the counter of the sink. I fill each container with salad, and then I top each with two tomato slices, three hardboiled egg pieces, and a handful of carrots. Then I go through and put the lids on each one, stack them up, and bring them to the refrigerator. This whole process has given me nine deluxe salads. I repeat this process until I have 70 deluxe salads, 16 side salads, and 6 taco salads. It would be lovely if my work ended there.
I then must chop more lettuce to give the people working the next day some help. I chop until I have an entire container of it, and I put it in the fridge. I then cut more lettuce for the sandwich people. Around this time, it is nearing 9:30. I have to have my work done by 10 in order to get my break, so I start hustling. I cut, chop, and dice more tomatoes to fill the container. I cut up more hard boiled eggs, and I skin more carrots. By this time, I usually have a big mess to clean. I must clean every bit of lettuce out of the sink so the dishwasher can start to use it. I must clean every bit of the little pieces of lettuce left in the chopper, which let me tell you, takes forever. Lastly, after my mess is cleaned up, I am to help whoever has not finished their tasks yet; no one goes on break until everyone is done. Finally, 10 o’clock rolls around and I can take my twenty minute break to eat.
That’s probably one of the busier parts of my day. By this time I am usually already exhausted with all the lifting and carrying I had done. But then, I must start my 10:30-4 shift. All day long I work the cash register and take peoples orders. I get them salads, I get them drinks, I get them ice cream, and everything in-between. I clean up spills, I deal with angry customers, I wipe tables, and I refill ingredients, to name a few. We don’t get any breaks to sit down. We are literally on our feet all day. By the time 4 o’clock rolls around, everyone is beyond exhausted. I go home with a sore body, an exhausted mind, and a terrible grease smell imbedded on my clothing, hair, and even skin.
I’m not saying there aren’t rewarding parts to working fast food. You do, after all, get a paycheck every two weeks, and you will occasionally deal with customers that you just love. But for the most part, it is just an exhausting job. I’m not sure how there are some people there that use this as their full time job. Flipping hamburgers is alright and all, but I’m beyond glad to be at college so that I can have a job one day that doesn’t require me to ask “would you like fries with that?”
I arrive at work at 8 a.m., even on the weekends. We don’t open until 10:30 a.m., so there are two and a half hours of preparation before we even open. We all are assigned our own jobs. My job is to do salads. I go in, put on my hairnet, booties, and gloves, and get busy. The first thing I do is see what salads and toppings are left to use from the night before. I have to check all of the leftover salads to make sure they are all fresh; freshness is very important to the Ritzy image. I discard the ones that have any hint of brown in them. Next, I take the leftover lettuce from the night before and fill up the lettuce containers for the sandwich makers. I take all of the leftover lettuce to the salad, where I chop it up. We have huge sinks in the back that we fill up with chopped lettuce to make our salads; we usually go through around 70 salads a day. The chopper is heavy and a burden to use, but it’s what has to be done.
After I chop the lettuce, I start making salads. I get out the tomatoes, the hardboiled eggs, and the carrots. I have my own way of making my salads. I line up as many bowls as I can on the counter of the sink. I fill each container with salad, and then I top each with two tomato slices, three hardboiled egg pieces, and a handful of carrots. Then I go through and put the lids on each one, stack them up, and bring them to the refrigerator. This whole process has given me nine deluxe salads. I repeat this process until I have 70 deluxe salads, 16 side salads, and 6 taco salads. It would be lovely if my work ended there.
I then must chop more lettuce to give the people working the next day some help. I chop until I have an entire container of it, and I put it in the fridge. I then cut more lettuce for the sandwich people. Around this time, it is nearing 9:30. I have to have my work done by 10 in order to get my break, so I start hustling. I cut, chop, and dice more tomatoes to fill the container. I cut up more hard boiled eggs, and I skin more carrots. By this time, I usually have a big mess to clean. I must clean every bit of lettuce out of the sink so the dishwasher can start to use it. I must clean every bit of the little pieces of lettuce left in the chopper, which let me tell you, takes forever. Lastly, after my mess is cleaned up, I am to help whoever has not finished their tasks yet; no one goes on break until everyone is done. Finally, 10 o’clock rolls around and I can take my twenty minute break to eat.
That’s probably one of the busier parts of my day. By this time I am usually already exhausted with all the lifting and carrying I had done. But then, I must start my 10:30-4 shift. All day long I work the cash register and take peoples orders. I get them salads, I get them drinks, I get them ice cream, and everything in-between. I clean up spills, I deal with angry customers, I wipe tables, and I refill ingredients, to name a few. We don’t get any breaks to sit down. We are literally on our feet all day. By the time 4 o’clock rolls around, everyone is beyond exhausted. I go home with a sore body, an exhausted mind, and a terrible grease smell imbedded on my clothing, hair, and even skin.
I’m not saying there aren’t rewarding parts to working fast food. You do, after all, get a paycheck every two weeks, and you will occasionally deal with customers that you just love. But for the most part, it is just an exhausting job. I’m not sure how there are some people there that use this as their full time job. Flipping hamburgers is alright and all, but I’m beyond glad to be at college so that I can have a job one day that doesn’t require me to ask “would you like fries with that?”
Friday, October 8, 2010
Fall Festival!
If you were to take a helicopter ride over the west side of Evansville some time in your life, the week of the West Side Nut Club Fall Festival would be the week to do it. From above, on the first full week of October, you would not recognize this usually somewhat boring street. Any other week, you would see a bunch of family-owned stores, a couple banks, and a library. It’s an interesting and historic street, but definitely not a busy one. On this particular week, however, Franklin street becomes the focal point of the whole tri-state area. I would love to take a helicopter ride to get the full effect of just how busy the Fall Festival is.
From above, you would first notice the crowd. Thousands and thousands of people crowd in everyday, it’s almost overwhelming. You would see commotion as people move both up and down the street. You would see the food booths that are lined up along four or five blocks. You would notice the rides, starting with the ferris wheel. You would see flashing lights, fast-moving rides, and people going booth to booth to play their favorite games. From the sky, you just catch a glimpse of what is actually inside of the festival.
Being inside of the festival, you really get the full effect. It is definitely a sight to see. Going up the street, I first notice all of the people. You get a variety of people at the Fall Festival. You see gangsters, you see rednecks, you see druggies, you see white trash, and everything else in between. It’s hard not to stare sometimes. At night time, you see a lot of “almost” fights, where people yell profanities back and forth but usually end up walking away. Occasionally, you might even experience an actual fight, but the police are usually quick to stop it. For some reason, people find excuses to fight at the Fall Festival; I really don’t understand it. Beyond the people, you notice the numerous food stands. There are signs advertising all kinds of food. Pretty much everything you could ever eat, you’ll find it fried. Fried cookie dough, fried green beans, fried macaroni and cheese, even fried turkey testicles (one of the more disturbing things I’ve seen at the Fall Festival).
You also see one of the most well-known booths at the festival: the bug booth. There you see brightly colored lollipops with scorpions, crickets, and grasshoppers in them, as well as chocolate covered crickets. If you successfully eat one before you get too grossed out, you receive a big button stating you are in the “I ate a bug club”.
Besides all of the unusual, different, and downright gross food you see at the Fall Festival, you can also find your normal foods. Corn dogs, cotton candy, walking tacos, barbeque sandwiches, apple cider, chicken dumplings, and so much more. Looking at the food map, it’s almost impossible to make a choice with the hundreds of food options they present you with. I can only imagine how much money is brought into the festival just for food.
You experience many different tastes at the festival, depending on how adventurous you get with your taste testing. One of the favorites of the people is the fried cookie dough. I tried it for the first time on Monday, and while I could almost feel myself gaining weight as I ate it, I will admit it was delicious. You bite into a fried coating, and then you get to experience the warm delicious cookie dough inside. It’s a million times better than sneaking cookie dough from your mother’s batch while she’s not looking. Being a big pickle fan, I had to try the fried pickle chips as well. It tastes just as you would think; fried coating over delicious pickles. Dip it in some ranch and it’s rather amazing. Corn fritters will always be one of my favorites. It tastes like fried corn casserole, which sounds nasty, but it’s delicious. You dip it in maple syrup. It always makes my fingers sticky, but it’s well worth it. Pretty much everything at the festival has a fried taste to it, but that’s what makes this week so much fun.
The Fall Festival also has a very distinct smell: a mixture of grease and cigarettes. As you pass each booth, you can usually pick up on the smell of the different foods cooking. As I walk by one booth, I smell corn fritters. As I walk by another, I smell corn dogs. Usually the smell is what allures people to buy from a particular booth. Once you walk away from the food part of the festival though, it gets a little gross. Over by the rides, you can no longer smell the individual foods that smell so good. Instead, you solely smell grease. The smell of cigarettes also becomes stronger as you move away from the food. A lot of the ride attendants and game owners are heavy chain smokers; it’s nearly impossible to escape.
While the Fall Festival is not necessarily a classy event, it is definitely a fun one. As much as I hate the stomachache I endure after a Fall Festival dinner, I make it a point to do it every year. It’s one of those love-hate relationships. Everyone knows the festival is dirty, greasy and even trashy at times, but we all love it. The sights, the smells, and the tastes of the Fall Festival are what make it such a unique experience; plus, I don’t think you could find fried turkey testicles anywhere else. At least, I hope not.
From above, you would first notice the crowd. Thousands and thousands of people crowd in everyday, it’s almost overwhelming. You would see commotion as people move both up and down the street. You would see the food booths that are lined up along four or five blocks. You would notice the rides, starting with the ferris wheel. You would see flashing lights, fast-moving rides, and people going booth to booth to play their favorite games. From the sky, you just catch a glimpse of what is actually inside of the festival.
Being inside of the festival, you really get the full effect. It is definitely a sight to see. Going up the street, I first notice all of the people. You get a variety of people at the Fall Festival. You see gangsters, you see rednecks, you see druggies, you see white trash, and everything else in between. It’s hard not to stare sometimes. At night time, you see a lot of “almost” fights, where people yell profanities back and forth but usually end up walking away. Occasionally, you might even experience an actual fight, but the police are usually quick to stop it. For some reason, people find excuses to fight at the Fall Festival; I really don’t understand it. Beyond the people, you notice the numerous food stands. There are signs advertising all kinds of food. Pretty much everything you could ever eat, you’ll find it fried. Fried cookie dough, fried green beans, fried macaroni and cheese, even fried turkey testicles (one of the more disturbing things I’ve seen at the Fall Festival).
You also see one of the most well-known booths at the festival: the bug booth. There you see brightly colored lollipops with scorpions, crickets, and grasshoppers in them, as well as chocolate covered crickets. If you successfully eat one before you get too grossed out, you receive a big button stating you are in the “I ate a bug club”.
Besides all of the unusual, different, and downright gross food you see at the Fall Festival, you can also find your normal foods. Corn dogs, cotton candy, walking tacos, barbeque sandwiches, apple cider, chicken dumplings, and so much more. Looking at the food map, it’s almost impossible to make a choice with the hundreds of food options they present you with. I can only imagine how much money is brought into the festival just for food.
You experience many different tastes at the festival, depending on how adventurous you get with your taste testing. One of the favorites of the people is the fried cookie dough. I tried it for the first time on Monday, and while I could almost feel myself gaining weight as I ate it, I will admit it was delicious. You bite into a fried coating, and then you get to experience the warm delicious cookie dough inside. It’s a million times better than sneaking cookie dough from your mother’s batch while she’s not looking. Being a big pickle fan, I had to try the fried pickle chips as well. It tastes just as you would think; fried coating over delicious pickles. Dip it in some ranch and it’s rather amazing. Corn fritters will always be one of my favorites. It tastes like fried corn casserole, which sounds nasty, but it’s delicious. You dip it in maple syrup. It always makes my fingers sticky, but it’s well worth it. Pretty much everything at the festival has a fried taste to it, but that’s what makes this week so much fun.
The Fall Festival also has a very distinct smell: a mixture of grease and cigarettes. As you pass each booth, you can usually pick up on the smell of the different foods cooking. As I walk by one booth, I smell corn fritters. As I walk by another, I smell corn dogs. Usually the smell is what allures people to buy from a particular booth. Once you walk away from the food part of the festival though, it gets a little gross. Over by the rides, you can no longer smell the individual foods that smell so good. Instead, you solely smell grease. The smell of cigarettes also becomes stronger as you move away from the food. A lot of the ride attendants and game owners are heavy chain smokers; it’s nearly impossible to escape.
While the Fall Festival is not necessarily a classy event, it is definitely a fun one. As much as I hate the stomachache I endure after a Fall Festival dinner, I make it a point to do it every year. It’s one of those love-hate relationships. Everyone knows the festival is dirty, greasy and even trashy at times, but we all love it. The sights, the smells, and the tastes of the Fall Festival are what make it such a unique experience; plus, I don’t think you could find fried turkey testicles anywhere else. At least, I hope not.
Monday, October 4, 2010
Yummy in my Tummy
There are several small memories that I relate to a specific meal or dish in my life. Since it is Fall Festival week, I will start there. My earliest memory of the Fall Festival would be eating corndogs when I was around 7 or 8. I remember that my parents never wanted to spend much money on food at the Fall Festival, so they would tell us we could pick out one thing to get. Usually, we would get a corndog. We would pick one day out of the week that we wanted to buy bracelets to ride all the rides we wanted, and our parents would buy it for us. Us kids would get around 30 dollars apiece to spend on what we wanted at the festival. If I ate a corndog before rides, my stomach would get queasy, but it was never too bad. However, if I got adventurous and chose deep fried corn fritters as my meal, my stomach usually couldn’t take it when I would get on the rides. In general, Fall Festival food doesn’t settle well with my stomach. I haven’t really eaten there in a couple years, but it seems like my stomach has went downhill since then, so I am curious to see how I handle all the greasy food this year.
One of my earliest food memories, if you could even consider this food, was when I was 3 or so and I had an obsession with gum. I loved the taste of it, and I thought it was so strange that you could chew it for hours and it would never go away. I’m not sure why my parents trusted me with gum so young, but they did. I just remember every time I saw my great-grandma, Ma, or my Nana, I would ask them for gum. I was watching my little sister’s baby video the other day. I was about 2 and a half in the video, and my parents were bringing my sister home from the hospital. My great-grandma walked in, followed by my mom, dad, and the new baby. Instead of me asking to see the baby, you see me in the video tugging on Ma’s dress and asking her for gum. It was cute to look back on because I had forgotten how much I loved gum and I didn’t really realize how much I related gum to both my great-grandma and my grandma.
Then, of course, there is school lunch. 99% of the time, the food was nasty. But there was always that one day during the week that the food was good. During elementary school, it was Thursday, pizza day. We would all get so excited to go to lunch and eat pizza. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure it’s the same pizza that disgusted me in high school, but oh well. One thing I will always remember about elementary school is the milk in the plastic bags. You would just take your straw and stab it through the bag. At the time it was no big deal, but when you think about it, it’s a very strange thing. The bags always had little cartoon characters on them saying random things. During middle school and high school, it was Wednesday, mashed potato day. It either came with mini cornies, beef fingers, or chicken nuggets. For some reason, this made the whole week okay. In high school, when I would be having a terrible day, my friends would always just be like “at least it’s mashed potato day!” I have no idea why these instant mashed potatoes had such an impact on our lives, but they did. How strange.
Hospital experiences have had a way of affecting my views on certain foods. When I was in St.Louis Children’s Hospital, they had a Dairy Queen. I would always get a blizzard with my dinners. Now, every time I eat a blizzard, I think of my time in the hospital. Same goes with meatloaf, and green beans. I have a hard time eating those without thinking about the hospital because I ate that so much there.
Lastly, food also has a way of reminding me of home. I still live close to home, so I can always go back to get my fix, but my mom is the best cook. She makes awesome chicken dishes, spaghetti casserole, pumpkin bread, etc. She always has something good to eat. My nana lives in an apartment connected to our house, so if Mom doesn’t have something cooked, Nana will. Nana always has good spaghetti dishes for us to try. I love going home for a home-cooked meal. I’m lucky that they live so close, so I am able to do this pretty much anytime I want. It’s the best.
One of my earliest food memories, if you could even consider this food, was when I was 3 or so and I had an obsession with gum. I loved the taste of it, and I thought it was so strange that you could chew it for hours and it would never go away. I’m not sure why my parents trusted me with gum so young, but they did. I just remember every time I saw my great-grandma, Ma, or my Nana, I would ask them for gum. I was watching my little sister’s baby video the other day. I was about 2 and a half in the video, and my parents were bringing my sister home from the hospital. My great-grandma walked in, followed by my mom, dad, and the new baby. Instead of me asking to see the baby, you see me in the video tugging on Ma’s dress and asking her for gum. It was cute to look back on because I had forgotten how much I loved gum and I didn’t really realize how much I related gum to both my great-grandma and my grandma.
Then, of course, there is school lunch. 99% of the time, the food was nasty. But there was always that one day during the week that the food was good. During elementary school, it was Thursday, pizza day. We would all get so excited to go to lunch and eat pizza. Looking back now, I’m pretty sure it’s the same pizza that disgusted me in high school, but oh well. One thing I will always remember about elementary school is the milk in the plastic bags. You would just take your straw and stab it through the bag. At the time it was no big deal, but when you think about it, it’s a very strange thing. The bags always had little cartoon characters on them saying random things. During middle school and high school, it was Wednesday, mashed potato day. It either came with mini cornies, beef fingers, or chicken nuggets. For some reason, this made the whole week okay. In high school, when I would be having a terrible day, my friends would always just be like “at least it’s mashed potato day!” I have no idea why these instant mashed potatoes had such an impact on our lives, but they did. How strange.
Hospital experiences have had a way of affecting my views on certain foods. When I was in St.Louis Children’s Hospital, they had a Dairy Queen. I would always get a blizzard with my dinners. Now, every time I eat a blizzard, I think of my time in the hospital. Same goes with meatloaf, and green beans. I have a hard time eating those without thinking about the hospital because I ate that so much there.
Lastly, food also has a way of reminding me of home. I still live close to home, so I can always go back to get my fix, but my mom is the best cook. She makes awesome chicken dishes, spaghetti casserole, pumpkin bread, etc. She always has something good to eat. My nana lives in an apartment connected to our house, so if Mom doesn’t have something cooked, Nana will. Nana always has good spaghetti dishes for us to try. I love going home for a home-cooked meal. I’m lucky that they live so close, so I am able to do this pretty much anytime I want. It’s the best.
Saturday, October 2, 2010
Our dorm
I am at 1720 Rochelle Lane, O’Bannon, second floor, in room 212. I am in the common room that I share with my roommates Sydney Barcelli, Kara Marvel, and Kelsey Harris. When you first enter our common room, you are pretty much looking at a plain wall because we have yet to have a chance to decorate our common room. You also see the two chairs and the couch that came with our room. We did, however, manage to get a Hannah Montana rug on clearance at Wal-mart to add a little fun to our common room. Kara’s fiancé works at a movie theatre, so he was able to bring us a few movie posters. On Kara and Kelsey’s door, to the right, they have a Toy Story 3 poster. On the room I share with Sydney, we have Shrek 3 movie poster on our door. Next to the couch, we recently added the pink lamp that Sydney bought a few weeks ago. We have yet to use it. To the left is our kitchen area, complete with a sink, a microwave, and a mini-fridge. We usually dump all of the random papers and pamphlets we get on top of the microwave, so you can find all of that there. Next, we go into our room.
My and Sydney’s room is to the left as you walk in. To be honest, our room is usually like a zoo; it is always a mess. It always smells awesome though, compliments of my Febreeze air fresheners. Immediately to your left you will see our sink. My favorite color is turquoise, so there is a turquoise soap dispenser, along with a turquoise toothbrush holder and matching towels. Our towels are thrown about the sink, and there is usually some sort of clutter. Sydney’s makeup, Q-tips, bobby-pins, and hair straighteners usually take up a lot of counter space. Directly in front of the door is Sydney’s fridge. To the left of her fridge is our bathroom. It’s very cute, I won’t lie. We have a polka dot shower curtain, and a pink fuzzy rug.
Sydney’s side of the room is right by the bathroom. She has her bed against the wall, and her desk is up against that. She’s got pink sheets and a striped comforter. Her closet is also right next to her bed. And, of course, she has the movie poster for Charlie St. Cloud taped above her bed. She thinks Zac Efron is hot. If you turn to the right, you find my side of the room. I’ve got my desk to the right and my bed pushed up against the left. I brought a cabinet from my house to put in front of my bed to keep my television on. I don’t like when the sun wakes me up early, so I have a turquoise curtain on my window. Like I said, it’s my favorite color. I have turquoise sheets, surprise, and a white comforter with colorful flowers on it. I have a few things hanging on the walls; a painting of two birds that’s all colorful, and a picture frame with a picture of my boyfriend and I. I have a couple cute lamps on my desk, but it mostly just has a ton of random items that get dumped there throughout the school week. Throughout the whole room, you will find mess. Clothes and towels thrown everywhere, shoes scattered about, snacks on the floor, the whole works. We clean up when we feel like it, but we’re pretty content with a messy room.
If I were on the 3rd floor looking down on our room at a sky level, the shape might seem rather strange. Both of the two bedrooms would look like upside-down “L”s, which is usually how they are described to people inquiring about the dorms. Compared to the bedrooms, especially at sky level, our common room would seem extremely plain. Kelsey and Kara have a colorful room just like Sydney and I do; they also have theirs set up the same. If looking at our room from the 3rd floor, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that this room belonged to a bunch of girls. Basically, at 1720 Rochelle Lane, O’Bannon, second floor, in room 212, you will experience an intense explosion of colors and randomness in both room décor and, as well, in the personalities of the four girls living there.
My and Sydney’s room is to the left as you walk in. To be honest, our room is usually like a zoo; it is always a mess. It always smells awesome though, compliments of my Febreeze air fresheners. Immediately to your left you will see our sink. My favorite color is turquoise, so there is a turquoise soap dispenser, along with a turquoise toothbrush holder and matching towels. Our towels are thrown about the sink, and there is usually some sort of clutter. Sydney’s makeup, Q-tips, bobby-pins, and hair straighteners usually take up a lot of counter space. Directly in front of the door is Sydney’s fridge. To the left of her fridge is our bathroom. It’s very cute, I won’t lie. We have a polka dot shower curtain, and a pink fuzzy rug.
Sydney’s side of the room is right by the bathroom. She has her bed against the wall, and her desk is up against that. She’s got pink sheets and a striped comforter. Her closet is also right next to her bed. And, of course, she has the movie poster for Charlie St. Cloud taped above her bed. She thinks Zac Efron is hot. If you turn to the right, you find my side of the room. I’ve got my desk to the right and my bed pushed up against the left. I brought a cabinet from my house to put in front of my bed to keep my television on. I don’t like when the sun wakes me up early, so I have a turquoise curtain on my window. Like I said, it’s my favorite color. I have turquoise sheets, surprise, and a white comforter with colorful flowers on it. I have a few things hanging on the walls; a painting of two birds that’s all colorful, and a picture frame with a picture of my boyfriend and I. I have a couple cute lamps on my desk, but it mostly just has a ton of random items that get dumped there throughout the school week. Throughout the whole room, you will find mess. Clothes and towels thrown everywhere, shoes scattered about, snacks on the floor, the whole works. We clean up when we feel like it, but we’re pretty content with a messy room.
If I were on the 3rd floor looking down on our room at a sky level, the shape might seem rather strange. Both of the two bedrooms would look like upside-down “L”s, which is usually how they are described to people inquiring about the dorms. Compared to the bedrooms, especially at sky level, our common room would seem extremely plain. Kelsey and Kara have a colorful room just like Sydney and I do; they also have theirs set up the same. If looking at our room from the 3rd floor, there would be no doubt in anyone’s mind that this room belonged to a bunch of girls. Basically, at 1720 Rochelle Lane, O’Bannon, second floor, in room 212, you will experience an intense explosion of colors and randomness in both room décor and, as well, in the personalities of the four girls living there.
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Our Pee Adventure
It was one weekend many many months ago. My friends Susan, Kelley, and I decided to go to the mall. Nothing was out of the usual; we just went to enjoy some leisurely shopping. There usually isn’t much to do in Evansville, so we did what most teenagers do and went to the mall. The three of us went in and out of stores for about an hour or so before we grew tired of walking. We sat down at the food court to get something to eat. Susan got Chinese, I got Subway, and Kelley got a sandwich. We all just sat around and ate our food as usual, people watching at the same time.
Kelley is a funny one. She likes to crack jokes. Us three can always find a way to crack each other up, even if it’s over something stupid. People around us usually think we are insane when we are sitting there laughing over nothing, but we don’t care. I don’t remember what it was that Kelley said to make us laugh, but it must have been funny. I look over and see Susan laughing. Suddenly, her face goes from smiley to shocked to disgusted. We asked her what was wrong. She said, “I think I just peed my pants. Oh my god, oh my god, I just peed my pants.”
Honestly, it wasn’t a huge surprise to us. Susan had peed her pants once or twice before, poor girl, over silly reasons. But she was mortified. She got up and ran to the rest room. When we asked her how things were going, she just kept telling us to shut up. Meanwhile, we were trying our hardest to keep our laughter to a minimum. Finally, Susan came out of the stall.
She was reluctant at first to show us her pants. We at last got her to show us. She slowly turned around. You could definitely see where the accident occurred. We tried to be comforting, but we couldn’t do much besides laugh. Susan is a redhead and she blushes extremely easily, so she was continually growing more and more red as we continued pointing and cracking up. I’m not going to lie; it was a funny sight to see. Poor Susan with her red face and wet pants, just standing there.
We debated on what to do for awhile. We didn’t know whether to just leave and put a towel down for her in my car, or whether we should just buy her a new outfit to wear. We had a long debate about this right outside of the restroom. People passing by usually caught on to what we were doing and laughed; that made Susan feel a lot better I’m sure.
After a couple minutes, Kelley and I thought it would be nice (and funny) for it to look like we wet our pants too so that Susan could walk around the mall. We went into the bathroom and splashed water onto our butts. It wasn’t the best job, but it looked convincing. Kelley and I thought we were pretty funny, but I still don’t think Susan had the best time. Of course, we had to take advantage of the photo opportunity and take a picture of us in our peed pants. I still have that picture to this day.
Kelley and I decided we would call what we did for Susan “true friendship”. I mean, we made it look like we peed our pants just to make our friend, who really did pee her pants, feel a little better. We started using that phrase every time we would do something for the other ones; “true friendship”. This incident was several years ago, but it still holds true today.
Told you so.
Kelley is a funny one. She likes to crack jokes. Us three can always find a way to crack each other up, even if it’s over something stupid. People around us usually think we are insane when we are sitting there laughing over nothing, but we don’t care. I don’t remember what it was that Kelley said to make us laugh, but it must have been funny. I look over and see Susan laughing. Suddenly, her face goes from smiley to shocked to disgusted. We asked her what was wrong. She said, “I think I just peed my pants. Oh my god, oh my god, I just peed my pants.”
Honestly, it wasn’t a huge surprise to us. Susan had peed her pants once or twice before, poor girl, over silly reasons. But she was mortified. She got up and ran to the rest room. When we asked her how things were going, she just kept telling us to shut up. Meanwhile, we were trying our hardest to keep our laughter to a minimum. Finally, Susan came out of the stall.
She was reluctant at first to show us her pants. We at last got her to show us. She slowly turned around. You could definitely see where the accident occurred. We tried to be comforting, but we couldn’t do much besides laugh. Susan is a redhead and she blushes extremely easily, so she was continually growing more and more red as we continued pointing and cracking up. I’m not going to lie; it was a funny sight to see. Poor Susan with her red face and wet pants, just standing there.
We debated on what to do for awhile. We didn’t know whether to just leave and put a towel down for her in my car, or whether we should just buy her a new outfit to wear. We had a long debate about this right outside of the restroom. People passing by usually caught on to what we were doing and laughed; that made Susan feel a lot better I’m sure.
After a couple minutes, Kelley and I thought it would be nice (and funny) for it to look like we wet our pants too so that Susan could walk around the mall. We went into the bathroom and splashed water onto our butts. It wasn’t the best job, but it looked convincing. Kelley and I thought we were pretty funny, but I still don’t think Susan had the best time. Of course, we had to take advantage of the photo opportunity and take a picture of us in our peed pants. I still have that picture to this day.
Kelley and I decided we would call what we did for Susan “true friendship”. I mean, we made it look like we peed our pants just to make our friend, who really did pee her pants, feel a little better. We started using that phrase every time we would do something for the other ones; “true friendship”. This incident was several years ago, but it still holds true today.
Monday, September 27, 2010
My Nana
My Nana will always be the funniest, sweetest, and strongest grandma I know. If you look at her, you may only catch a glimpse of what kind of person she is. Though her wardrobe isn’t out of the ordinary as far as grandmothers go, her personality sure is. Nana never has gray hair. She is always dying it a different color. Her motto for why she doesn’t want gray hair? “I may be old, but that don’t mean I have to be gray”. She always has on a nice top, capris, and sandals or tennis shoes. If you look closely, however, you’ll usually notice that she either has on two different shoes, or that she has her shirt inside out. When we point these things out to her, instead of being embarrassed, she cracks up like it was a joke that she already knew about.
Nana is very care-free. She just goes with the flow and doesn’t really care when plans get mixed up. Nana is most known in Evansville for her Tweety Bird car. It’s a little yellow Tracker, and everything inside is Tweety Bird. The tire cover is Tweety Bird saying “I go where I’m towed”. Everyone she meets finds it hilarious, and that’s usually how people know her. Anytime she sees someone she knows, she honks the horn really loud, laughs, and waves. I always get embarrassed, but I know it’s funny at the same time. We always get a kick out of Nana. Just the little things she says and the jokes she makes are funny just because she says them.
She loves music. She sings in the church choir and loves it. She mostly loves Christian music, and old school stuff, especially Elvis. Anytime a song of his comes on that she likes she yells “Oh, sing it Elvis!” This is true of any song she likes. It happens at least five times a day, and it never gets old because after she says that, she sings along to the song. It’s probably one of the better parts of the day.
Nana is one of the strongest people I know, mentally and physically. The first time I found out how mentally strong she is was when I was in 8th grade. My Poppy had suffered a stroke, and he was alive on life-support, but brain-dead. The doctors told us that if they kept him alive, he would be a vegetable the rest of his life. Nana had to be the one to decide what to do. She decided that he wouldn’t have wanted to live as a vegetable, so she decided to let him go peacefully. For me, I had no idea how she did that. We all knew how incredibly sad and heart-broken she was, but she was able to stay strong around all of us to make it seem like she was okay. Even to this day, when things about Poppy are brought up, you can see the sadness in her eyes, but she always puts a smile on her face before we are able to ask how she is.
And, of course, Nana is strong physically. She is very fit for her age. It hurts when she gives us a loving pat on the back. I used to think it was just me that thought so, until my friend Amy received one of these pats and told me later how bad it hurt. When we would tell Nana she was hurting us, she would just laugh, tell us we were funny, and pat us again. She is seventy years old, but she is always still out in her garden. One of the best memories I have of Nana to show how strong she is would be her trip home from Florida. It was the year after my Poppy died, and they usually drove to and from Florida together in their motor home. Nana decided to make the trip by herself. The day before she came back, she hurt her right leg pretty bad. She wrapped it up and decided to wait to get back to see a doctor. We warned her to not drive the motor home and that we would be down there to get her in a couple days. The next day, we see the motor home pull up to our house. It was Nana. She limped out of the car. She had wrapped up her right leg and driven the whole way home with just the left leg. My mother was furious, of course, but you’ve got to love Nana’s strength.
Needless to say, my Nana is a hoot. I know that she’s there for me no matter what situation, and that’s what I love most about her. She is the best grandmother a girl could ask for.
Nana is very care-free. She just goes with the flow and doesn’t really care when plans get mixed up. Nana is most known in Evansville for her Tweety Bird car. It’s a little yellow Tracker, and everything inside is Tweety Bird. The tire cover is Tweety Bird saying “I go where I’m towed”. Everyone she meets finds it hilarious, and that’s usually how people know her. Anytime she sees someone she knows, she honks the horn really loud, laughs, and waves. I always get embarrassed, but I know it’s funny at the same time. We always get a kick out of Nana. Just the little things she says and the jokes she makes are funny just because she says them.
She loves music. She sings in the church choir and loves it. She mostly loves Christian music, and old school stuff, especially Elvis. Anytime a song of his comes on that she likes she yells “Oh, sing it Elvis!” This is true of any song she likes. It happens at least five times a day, and it never gets old because after she says that, she sings along to the song. It’s probably one of the better parts of the day.
Nana is one of the strongest people I know, mentally and physically. The first time I found out how mentally strong she is was when I was in 8th grade. My Poppy had suffered a stroke, and he was alive on life-support, but brain-dead. The doctors told us that if they kept him alive, he would be a vegetable the rest of his life. Nana had to be the one to decide what to do. She decided that he wouldn’t have wanted to live as a vegetable, so she decided to let him go peacefully. For me, I had no idea how she did that. We all knew how incredibly sad and heart-broken she was, but she was able to stay strong around all of us to make it seem like she was okay. Even to this day, when things about Poppy are brought up, you can see the sadness in her eyes, but she always puts a smile on her face before we are able to ask how she is.
And, of course, Nana is strong physically. She is very fit for her age. It hurts when she gives us a loving pat on the back. I used to think it was just me that thought so, until my friend Amy received one of these pats and told me later how bad it hurt. When we would tell Nana she was hurting us, she would just laugh, tell us we were funny, and pat us again. She is seventy years old, but she is always still out in her garden. One of the best memories I have of Nana to show how strong she is would be her trip home from Florida. It was the year after my Poppy died, and they usually drove to and from Florida together in their motor home. Nana decided to make the trip by herself. The day before she came back, she hurt her right leg pretty bad. She wrapped it up and decided to wait to get back to see a doctor. We warned her to not drive the motor home and that we would be down there to get her in a couple days. The next day, we see the motor home pull up to our house. It was Nana. She limped out of the car. She had wrapped up her right leg and driven the whole way home with just the left leg. My mother was furious, of course, but you’ve got to love Nana’s strength.
Needless to say, my Nana is a hoot. I know that she’s there for me no matter what situation, and that’s what I love most about her. She is the best grandmother a girl could ask for.
Friday, September 24, 2010
Boys vs. Girls in the Utley House
Growing up, I always thought that my older brother was treated differently than me. It was never that I thought they loved him more than me, but I always knew his circumstances were definitely different than my own. Looking back, I think I can understand why. When I was younger I thought it was so unfair that he got to do more things because he was a boy. When I look at it from my parent’s view, however, I can see why they were more protective over me than they were with my brother.
My brother wasn’t exactly a good kid growing up. He was always out late and we knew he went to parties. One time, when he was 16, my parents caught him and his friend in our basement smoking weed. I was only 11 at the time, so this event seemed like an even bigger deal to me then than it does now. Of course, my parents were furious, angry, sad, but after a month of him being grounded, they got over it. Afterwards, he was still allowed to stay out late.
When I turned 16 and started wanting to go out, my parents gave me a curfew. I believe it was 11 o’clock on weekends, and I couldn’t really go out during the weekdays. I thought it was pretty fair, but when I really started to think about it, I wondered why my brother had no curfew when he was my age. They argued, “Because he’s a boy”. I used to get so angry during these conversations because I had never done anything wrong like my brother, yet I still had to be home at these certain times.
My brother moved out a couple times during high school and then again when he graduated. My parents kind of just let him do what he wanted because they knew they couldn’t stop him anyways. They would fight, make up, and then fight again. He pretty much had complete freedom once he turned 17. I, however, had a curfew up until the summer before I came to college, even though I had just turned 19. When my brother went out, they left him alone. When I went out, they had to know where I was, where I was going, who I was with, and they would also text me throughout the night. If I didn’t answer, they would call whomever I was with. I always felt like I had little freedom, and I was jealous of the freedoms my brother got when he was even younger than me.
My parents could never really explain why it was that my brother got treated differently than me. They would just tell me that boys get treated different than girls, and that it was just because I’m more likely to get hurt when I’m out late. I am also their “little girl” and, not that they love me more or anything, but I think that just makes them more protective over me. I guess I can understand that, seeing now that boys are generally more able to fend for themselves than girls are. It still doesn’t change how unfair I thought it was back then though.
Now, for my younger sister, it’s about the same as it was with me, only there are special circumstances. My sister usually doesn’t go out much, and it’s harder for her to make friends. She’s 16, and spends the majority of her time at home. She doesn’t drive, so my parents take her where she wants to go. I feel like she pretty much gets to do whatever she wants. If she wants to be out late, she can be out late, even though she’s 16. When I was 16, I had to be home by 11. I can understand why my parents are like that with her. When they see she wants to actually go out with friends and have a social life, they jump at the chance to take her places. I suppose if she had an active social life and was out all of the time like I used to be, then rules would be set for her too. It doesn’t really upset me that she doesn’t have a curfew.
When I have kids, I’m not sure if I would go in the direction my parents did. While I do see their reasoning, I don’t necessarily think it’s fair that guys get an advantage just because they were born males. Then again, maybe it’s not so fair us girls get pampered and babies just because we were born females. Who knows?
My brother wasn’t exactly a good kid growing up. He was always out late and we knew he went to parties. One time, when he was 16, my parents caught him and his friend in our basement smoking weed. I was only 11 at the time, so this event seemed like an even bigger deal to me then than it does now. Of course, my parents were furious, angry, sad, but after a month of him being grounded, they got over it. Afterwards, he was still allowed to stay out late.
When I turned 16 and started wanting to go out, my parents gave me a curfew. I believe it was 11 o’clock on weekends, and I couldn’t really go out during the weekdays. I thought it was pretty fair, but when I really started to think about it, I wondered why my brother had no curfew when he was my age. They argued, “Because he’s a boy”. I used to get so angry during these conversations because I had never done anything wrong like my brother, yet I still had to be home at these certain times.
My brother moved out a couple times during high school and then again when he graduated. My parents kind of just let him do what he wanted because they knew they couldn’t stop him anyways. They would fight, make up, and then fight again. He pretty much had complete freedom once he turned 17. I, however, had a curfew up until the summer before I came to college, even though I had just turned 19. When my brother went out, they left him alone. When I went out, they had to know where I was, where I was going, who I was with, and they would also text me throughout the night. If I didn’t answer, they would call whomever I was with. I always felt like I had little freedom, and I was jealous of the freedoms my brother got when he was even younger than me.
My parents could never really explain why it was that my brother got treated differently than me. They would just tell me that boys get treated different than girls, and that it was just because I’m more likely to get hurt when I’m out late. I am also their “little girl” and, not that they love me more or anything, but I think that just makes them more protective over me. I guess I can understand that, seeing now that boys are generally more able to fend for themselves than girls are. It still doesn’t change how unfair I thought it was back then though.
Now, for my younger sister, it’s about the same as it was with me, only there are special circumstances. My sister usually doesn’t go out much, and it’s harder for her to make friends. She’s 16, and spends the majority of her time at home. She doesn’t drive, so my parents take her where she wants to go. I feel like she pretty much gets to do whatever she wants. If she wants to be out late, she can be out late, even though she’s 16. When I was 16, I had to be home by 11. I can understand why my parents are like that with her. When they see she wants to actually go out with friends and have a social life, they jump at the chance to take her places. I suppose if she had an active social life and was out all of the time like I used to be, then rules would be set for her too. It doesn’t really upset me that she doesn’t have a curfew.
When I have kids, I’m not sure if I would go in the direction my parents did. While I do see their reasoning, I don’t necessarily think it’s fair that guys get an advantage just because they were born males. Then again, maybe it’s not so fair us girls get pampered and babies just because we were born females. Who knows?
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
My Achievements
I must admit, I am somewhat of a procrastinator. I’ve always been an A student with ease; I have never had to worry much about getting my homework done because it came so easily to me most of the time. During my freshman and sophomore years, I could stay out with friends all night, throw together an essay in 30 minutes, and get a good grade the next day. School was always my focus, but it rarely required too much extra effort on my part.
My junior year, however, special circumstances made it harder for me to keep up with my good grades. Throughout my junior and senior years, I struggled with my epilepsy. I had brain surgery in the middle of my junior year to remove a benign brain tumor that they thought were the cause of the seizures. Needless to say, it did nothing to help, and they just kept getting worse. I was in and out of the hospital for a lot of my junior and senior year. Usually just a week or so at a time, but it made it difficult to keep up with my homework and advanced classes. I also struggle with attention deficit disorder. Without my medicine, it was extremely hard for me to get anything done. Unfortunately, my parents and my doctors thought that maybe the medicine that was helping me so much in school was actually the cause of my seizures. They made me stop taking the medicine, and I was scared about how I would continue to do my schoolwork when it was so hard to even read one assignment without getting side-tracked.
Growing up, I always knew my parents had never finished college because they got married so early. When my brother was in high school, he got in a lot of trouble, and I never expected him to go to college. I made a promise to myself early on that I would be the first one in my family to get good grades and go on to graduate college. When my epilepsy started making it harder for me to accomplish my goals, I had to realize that I had to give my all to my school in order to be successful. I decided that, despite my epilepsy and despite my A.D.D., I would do well in school to make everyone proud of me.
I would be doing homework all day during school. Whenever we had down time in one class, I would be working on homework for another. During lunch, during homeroom, even during pep rallies, I would work hard to make sure my homework was done. I was constantly checking my grades online to make sure that I was doing alright. I would get encouragement from my parents and my grandmother to keep pushing on and do well in school. My junior and senior year, I made the best grades I ever had. I got all As and one B. Looking at my report card, I felt so proud that I had overcome my struggles to do well in school. My family was very proud of me as well, and they are happy to see me here at college working hard to achieve even bigger goals. Looking around me, I see people with even bigger obstacles than I had that are achieving much more than I am. That makes me very humble and it makes me feel very lucky for the life I lead. It also pushes me even harder to take advantage of what I have and to be the best that I can be.
My junior year, however, special circumstances made it harder for me to keep up with my good grades. Throughout my junior and senior years, I struggled with my epilepsy. I had brain surgery in the middle of my junior year to remove a benign brain tumor that they thought were the cause of the seizures. Needless to say, it did nothing to help, and they just kept getting worse. I was in and out of the hospital for a lot of my junior and senior year. Usually just a week or so at a time, but it made it difficult to keep up with my homework and advanced classes. I also struggle with attention deficit disorder. Without my medicine, it was extremely hard for me to get anything done. Unfortunately, my parents and my doctors thought that maybe the medicine that was helping me so much in school was actually the cause of my seizures. They made me stop taking the medicine, and I was scared about how I would continue to do my schoolwork when it was so hard to even read one assignment without getting side-tracked.
Growing up, I always knew my parents had never finished college because they got married so early. When my brother was in high school, he got in a lot of trouble, and I never expected him to go to college. I made a promise to myself early on that I would be the first one in my family to get good grades and go on to graduate college. When my epilepsy started making it harder for me to accomplish my goals, I had to realize that I had to give my all to my school in order to be successful. I decided that, despite my epilepsy and despite my A.D.D., I would do well in school to make everyone proud of me.
I would be doing homework all day during school. Whenever we had down time in one class, I would be working on homework for another. During lunch, during homeroom, even during pep rallies, I would work hard to make sure my homework was done. I was constantly checking my grades online to make sure that I was doing alright. I would get encouragement from my parents and my grandmother to keep pushing on and do well in school. My junior and senior year, I made the best grades I ever had. I got all As and one B. Looking at my report card, I felt so proud that I had overcome my struggles to do well in school. My family was very proud of me as well, and they are happy to see me here at college working hard to achieve even bigger goals. Looking around me, I see people with even bigger obstacles than I had that are achieving much more than I am. That makes me very humble and it makes me feel very lucky for the life I lead. It also pushes me even harder to take advantage of what I have and to be the best that I can be.
Friday, September 10, 2010
My Elementary Experiences
Thinking back on school, all of my most vivid memories seem to focus around a crush of some sort. For everyone else in school, it seemed easy for them to go up and talked to the boy they liked and ask them out. For me, it was different. Up until middle or high school, I was extremely shy. I don’t know if it was because I felt self conscious because of my glasses or if I really was just a quiet person, but it was hard for me to talk to people. I always had a couple of good friends that I relied on to make me happy, and that was all I needed. When it came to boys, however, my best friends were always the ones making trouble for me.
My first boy memory was in kindergarten. Brendan Kassel was playing with this girl Rachel Toby and me at recess. We had this fake life-size house in our room, and we were all playing house. For some reason, Brendan decided he wanted a girlfriend. He couldn’t decide if he wanted me or Rachel, so he played a game to give us both equal chance: eenie meenie miney mo. He went back and forth between us as the choosing game progressed. I was extremely nervous; I don’t think I breathed the whole time. When his finger finally landed on me, a huge smile escaped my face; I had a boyfriend. Now, it’s not like anything happened. We never held hands, he never kissed my cheek, and I never introduced him to Mom and Dad, but just the fact that I was chosen to be someone’s girlfriend made my day.
My next boy experience wasn’t as nice and pleasant. It was second grade, and my best friend was Diana Mewes. I told her everything, and so did she. Ever since first grade I had had the biggest crush on a boy named Cody Grable. He had sandy blonde hair, and he was the cutest boy I had ever seen. Of course, being my best friend, I told Diane that. Bad idea. We were sitting on the swings during recess, and Cody comes up on the other side to play. Diane, not being a good secret keeper, says “Hey Cody! Katelyn’s in love with you and wants you to be her boyfriend!” Then what does she do? She runs, leaving me there, shocked, with the man of my dreams sitting there. What does he say? Not a single word. Nothing. Mortified, I ran to the slide to cry.
I forgave Diane instantly, because it wasn’t like me to get mad, but that day stuck with me for years, up until high school I think. I couldn’t even look at Cody in class. When he would be within two feet of me I would hang my head in embarrassment, hoping he wouldn’t see me. If I hadn’t liked him so much, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But my crush on Cody Grable lasted until 6th grade. To be honest, I think it was events like that that made me so self-conscious and shy in school. I thought the worst thing in the world was to be rejected, so I just didn’t put myself out there. Looking back, I feel stupid for letting such a silly thing get to me, but in all honesty, that one day on the swings will always stick with me.
My first boy memory was in kindergarten. Brendan Kassel was playing with this girl Rachel Toby and me at recess. We had this fake life-size house in our room, and we were all playing house. For some reason, Brendan decided he wanted a girlfriend. He couldn’t decide if he wanted me or Rachel, so he played a game to give us both equal chance: eenie meenie miney mo. He went back and forth between us as the choosing game progressed. I was extremely nervous; I don’t think I breathed the whole time. When his finger finally landed on me, a huge smile escaped my face; I had a boyfriend. Now, it’s not like anything happened. We never held hands, he never kissed my cheek, and I never introduced him to Mom and Dad, but just the fact that I was chosen to be someone’s girlfriend made my day.
My next boy experience wasn’t as nice and pleasant. It was second grade, and my best friend was Diana Mewes. I told her everything, and so did she. Ever since first grade I had had the biggest crush on a boy named Cody Grable. He had sandy blonde hair, and he was the cutest boy I had ever seen. Of course, being my best friend, I told Diane that. Bad idea. We were sitting on the swings during recess, and Cody comes up on the other side to play. Diane, not being a good secret keeper, says “Hey Cody! Katelyn’s in love with you and wants you to be her boyfriend!” Then what does she do? She runs, leaving me there, shocked, with the man of my dreams sitting there. What does he say? Not a single word. Nothing. Mortified, I ran to the slide to cry.
I forgave Diane instantly, because it wasn’t like me to get mad, but that day stuck with me for years, up until high school I think. I couldn’t even look at Cody in class. When he would be within two feet of me I would hang my head in embarrassment, hoping he wouldn’t see me. If I hadn’t liked him so much, it wouldn’t have been a big deal. But my crush on Cody Grable lasted until 6th grade. To be honest, I think it was events like that that made me so self-conscious and shy in school. I thought the worst thing in the world was to be rejected, so I just didn’t put myself out there. Looking back, I feel stupid for letting such a silly thing get to me, but in all honesty, that one day on the swings will always stick with me.
Friday, September 3, 2010
My First Week of College
This has probably been the longest week of my life. There has been too much going on to even keep track of it all. There were so many new people to meet, so many new places to see, and so much new stuff to get used to. So far, I have loved it. I moved in early and met my roommates the next day. Despite a few minor setbacks, we have all gotten along great. We decorated our common room with movie posters and a Hannah Montana rug, and our rooms are starting to feel more comfortable and more like home. My first week away from home has been weird, and I must admit that I've already had some homesickness. Luckily, I live really close so I was able to visit my family a few times already.
I wasn't able to make it to all of the Welcome Week activities, but the ones I did go to were a blast. The scavenger hunt was fun, and so was the free photo booth. Starting school was definitely a new experience. The only class I had my first day was this English class, and I loved the girls and my professor in it. English is one of my favorite subjects so I was pleased that it went well. The second day, however, I misread the schedule and missed three of my classes. Apparently TR next to your class means Thursdays AND Tuesdays. Who knew? That stressed me out quite a bit, but I got it worked out. For the most part, my professors were nice about it. College classes are definitely different from high school classes. I've always been a good student, but I find some of the classes here to be a little harder. I like the challenge though. I'm eager to see how well I can keep up with my classes.
Wednesday was Fun Fest, and I definitely enjoyed that a lot. I got tons of free food, and I won some sweatpants and a t-shirt (not going to lie, I love those sweatpants more than life). Within a week I already feel closer to my roommates and to some of the girls living on my floor. Even though I have homework already, I love college. It has been a great experience. It has definitely been a huge adjustment for me, but I feel excited and I can't wait to see what it has in store for me.
I wasn't able to make it to all of the Welcome Week activities, but the ones I did go to were a blast. The scavenger hunt was fun, and so was the free photo booth. Starting school was definitely a new experience. The only class I had my first day was this English class, and I loved the girls and my professor in it. English is one of my favorite subjects so I was pleased that it went well. The second day, however, I misread the schedule and missed three of my classes. Apparently TR next to your class means Thursdays AND Tuesdays. Who knew? That stressed me out quite a bit, but I got it worked out. For the most part, my professors were nice about it. College classes are definitely different from high school classes. I've always been a good student, but I find some of the classes here to be a little harder. I like the challenge though. I'm eager to see how well I can keep up with my classes.
Wednesday was Fun Fest, and I definitely enjoyed that a lot. I got tons of free food, and I won some sweatpants and a t-shirt (not going to lie, I love those sweatpants more than life). Within a week I already feel closer to my roommates and to some of the girls living on my floor. Even though I have homework already, I love college. It has been a great experience. It has definitely been a huge adjustment for me, but I feel excited and I can't wait to see what it has in store for me.
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